Can we start again?
by neverwakeasleepingdragon
Summary: Set 2 years after the battle of Hogwarts. When Malfoy returns from France, the last thing he expects is Harry Potter to have a crush on him! Compliant with all the books. Please read and review! Parings: Harry/Draco, Pansy/Neville. Will aim to update about once a week due to having another fic on the go too!
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first attempt at a post-Hogwarts fanfic. Please read and review, feel free to be critical! Thanks, Bex **

Harry shook his head sending droplets of water from his thick hair flying around the bathroom and accosting the tiles as he tied a towel around his waist. He was finding it hard to conjure even the slightest amount of optimism about the night ahead of him. A few months ago, to the surprise of everyone Pansy and Neville had started dating. Even Hermione had been shocked when they walked into the three broomsticks holding hand and giggling with each other. The oddly matched couple had decided to throw a dinner party, and Harry hadn't been able to invent a valid preoccupation when cornered by Pansy in the ministry last week. It wasn't that he didn't like Neville's new girlfriend, amazingly she got on well with all of the Gryffindors. Harry thought her intelligent and found her wry humour refreshing, and she clearly adored Neville. Even Ron had grown to like her, and that was some feat considering his thoughts on the 'snakes'. No, it wasn't because of Pansy that he was feeling pessimistic; it wasn't even because he knew he'd be sitting at a table with Zabini and Nott. The reason for it was, unsurprising, Draco bloody Malfoy.

After resitting his 7th year at Hogwarts, along with the rest of his peers, Harry had left with a fierce determination never to speak to Malfoy again. Somehow, amongst the books and potion lessons he had found himself entertaining an obsession with the boy… no _man, _once again. But this wasn't the type of obsession he was used to. The very straight, very Gryffindor, very sexually inexperienced Harry had found himself growing more and more attracted to the very gay, very Slytherin, and Harry suspected, very sexually experienced Malfoy. He'd found himself staring at the veela like lips chewing on the pen in the library, far too often for his liking. He'd felt himself getting hard as he glimpsed a slither of pale stomach when Malfoy accidentally pushed his cloak aside. Merlin, he'd even started to compose sonnets describing Malfoy's hair in exact, romanticised, detail.

It was so wrong that he couldn't even tell Hermione about it without her thinking him either crazy of joking. So Harry had kept his crush to himself, and realised with horror that his crush was turning into love. You couldn't just crush on Draco Malfoy, especially when you knew as much about him as Harry did. Harry could have listed every book Draco had read over the past year, his favourite foods, even his sleeping habits. It scared him how obsessed he was getting and resolved to bury his feelings even deeper inside himself, praying for the day when they'd leave Hogwarts and Harry would no longer be forced to slink around the corridors in his invisibility cloak, half wanting to avoid Malfoy, yet still finding himself magically stood outside the Slytherin common room, checking the Marauder's map. He felt like a stalker, and he supposed he was. It was just so hard not to think about Malfoy all the time.

He looked at his reflection in the condensation-streaked mirror and took a deep breath, rubbing the glass and watching the condensation quickly reform. Tonight would be the first time he'd seen Malfoy in a year. The summer after Hogwarts, Narcissa and Draco had moved to France to stay with relatives and make a fresh start for themselves. The Malfoy name, although still highly esteemed in aristocratic wizarding circles, had a damaged reputation. Lucius was indefinitely behind bars in Azkaban, and the scars of the war were still deep. Narcissa and Draco's names, having both to some extend saved Harry's life, hadn't been dragged through the mud as much as other death eater's, but Narcissa had deemed it wise to move. Tonight though, Draco was back and would be dining at Pansy's. Harry couldn't fail to see the humour of Malfoy dining at Neville's house and a small chuckle escaped his lips as he spelled his hair dry. He didn't know the exact reasons why Malfoy had decided to return, but from what little information he'd gathered it looked like he was back for good. He had tried to extract as much as he could from Pansy without making his obsession clear to her, but he suspected that by asking where he was living he'd over-stepped the line, as she raised her eyebrows knowingly.

"The manor, of course. Why, I'm sure he'd love it if you popped in and paid him a visit golden boy." She winked. The nickname was said endearingly.

Harry was unsure on how he should act tonight. He was willing to act civilly if Malfoy did, although he had no idea what to expect. It had been hard to find anything out about the boy whilst he was abroad, all he knew was that he'd set up his own potions company. He'd heard this from, of all people, George Weasley. Apparently Malfoy had invented a love potion that made you instantly lust after the most inappropriate person in the room, yet weak enough to jump through the legal loopholes. The idea of it was so brilliant that George had been willing to put aside his feelings for Malfoy and buy a batch for the store. It had crossed Harry's mind that perhaps Malfoy had been sneaking the potion into Harry's pumpkin juice, but considering his feelings toward Malfoy refused to disappear after months of not seeing the man, he had to admit that the feelings were real and that they were there to stay.

After casting a quick tempus, Harry saw that he had half an hour before he was due at Neville's. This half an hour, he was loath to admit, was spent trying to find dress robes that would make him look attractive to Malfoy. He didn't normally dress up so much; usually he'd wear muggle clothing and chuck any cloak over the top so he could easily transition from muggle to wizarding areas without attracting too much attention to himself. This was easier said than done, when you were Harry Potter and had everyone staring at you in awe as you walked down Diagon Alley. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to buy his own drink in a bar, even though no one could accuse him of being short of galleons. Harry settled on a dark sapphire cloak with silver trim. He'd thought about wearing an emerald one but decided he didn't want to make it obvious that he was sidling up to Malfoy by wearing his house colours. The conversation with Pansy the other day had made him paranoid.

Suddenly nervous, Harry began pacing up and down his bedroom. He twisted his hands together, turning his fingers red. He felt sick, not at the thought of seeing Malfoy, but at the thought of Malfoy being indifferent towards him. He could picture it now, the blonde leaning across the table and flirting with Zabini, who would flirt back. Even worse was the thought that Malfoy might have a boyfriend. After coming out as gay in the weeks after the war, Draco hadn't been short of offers. In fact, it had even made front page of the Prophet when the Falmouth Falcon's Keeper had been spotted eating dinner with Malfoy. Harry had been furiously jealous, and remembered with shame how he had set fire to the Prophet as Hermione was reading it. He had had to pretend that it was an accident, but had received wary glances from the entire Gryffindor table.

A ringing entered his ears as his tempus charm went off. It was time to go. Harry apparated quickly after grabbing a wrapped bottle from the side, before he could invent an excuse and manage to convince himself not to go.

HPDM-HPDM-HPDM-HPDM-HPDM-HPDM-HPDM

Forgetting that it was rude to apparated straight into someone's house, Harry found himself in the parlor. Luckily no one was there, least not Malfoy, to comment on his faux pas. He strolled into the dining room where he assumed everyone would be, trying to duplicate the billowing of Snape's cloak. He did this not only to attract Malfoy's attention, but also because he'd always thought it looked cool, albeit secretly. He needn't have bothered, since Malfoy wasn't there. In fact none of his friends were. He walked back to the parlor, feeling more than a little stupid. Feeling like the time Ron had caught him singing a love song and dancing naked in the Gryffindor changing room. Pansy and Neville's house was huge. Neville had moved in with Pansy last month and she'd inherited the Parkinson, for lack of better word, palace. It was almost as grand as Malfoy Manor, although slightly less intimidating. It didn't have the lingering memory of Voldemort's presence, that's for sure.

Too embarrassed to go looking round the many rooms to find the company, Harry apparated outside and rang the bell. Neville, who seemed slightly stressed, opened it. He was wearing a pink, leather apron that was tied haphazardly around his waist, and had a streak of flour in his hair. Harry decided not to mention it, and leaned in to give his friend a friendly slap on the back.

"Harry! Good to see you, Pansy's had me doing all the cooking…' he looked down at his apron and blushed.

Harry handed him the present he'd bought. "Just fire whisky, thought we'd need it with the Slytherins here. Doesn't she have house-elves for that? She's practically part of a pure-blood monarchy."

As if on cue, two house-elves apparated next to Neville, bowed at Harry and proceeded to speak over each other.

"Mister Harry Potter-"

"Horgy thinks it is such a pleasure-"

"Pinky asks if mister Harry Potter would want any assistance…"

"To meet the savior!"

Harry grinned. He'd always liked house-elves, even when Dobby had dropped the cake on Mrs. Mason's head he'd liked him. Neville couldn't help but smile back.

"They are helping, but we have twelve guests! It's hard work Harry! There's only us three," he gestured to the two tiny creatures behind him, "And Koky, but she seems to be having far too fun entertaining Malfoy. I think she fancies him, which is completely bizarre." Neville shivered in mock disgust, Harry gulped.

So Malfoy was here. He'd known he would be of course, but Neville confirming it made it so much more immediate. He wished for a second that he hadn't come, but then shook the thought out of his head. Who was he kidding? He'd been waiting to see Malfoy the entire year, and this was his chance.

"Pinky will show you to the garden, it was nice weather so Pansy decided we'd eat outside," Neville smiled. Harry suspected that Pansy made all the decisions around here. Not only was Neville the most gentle of his friends, he was also the most likely to appease people. Especially Pansy, who's every word he treated like gospel. Not that Neville would even know what a gospel was, Harry thought.

Horgy scowled; disappointed that it would be Pinky who got to spend time with the savior of the wizarding world, and not him. Pinky held out her hand towards to large, opulent doors and gestured for Harry to follow her. He did so without protest, but not before sending Horgy and Neville a smile. He really wanted a house-elf of his own, if only for the company, but he knew that Hermione would never allow it. He wasn't really in the mood for a S.P.E.W lecture. Neville had been right; it _was _a nice evening. Summer light lit the grounds, the delicate white tent in the middle of the flat garden casting a pale shadow. He heard a sound from a bush and turned, expecting to see a gnome emerge. Instead, two fairies were giggling together, shimmering glittery powder onto the leaves below them. Of course, Harry thought half-amused, half-sarcastically, the Parkinson's wouldn't allow gnomes into their garden.

Pinky urged harry on, into the tent. A lavishly set table with twelve places was placed in the centre, with bottles of expensive alcohol dotted around. For that, Harry was relieved. He'd lost all his Gryffindor courage at the thought of trying to converse with Malfoy, without making his feelings known. He was okay with being gay, even in secret. It wasn't ideal, but it was certainly tolerable. But liking Malfoy? That, Harry thought, was not something that any sane person should be okay with.

Harry looked up, and his eyes were accosted with the site of long legs, an expensive cloak, and a sharp jawbone. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Draco Malfoy stood in the corner of the tent, laughing with Zabini, a glass of champagne held in his long fingers. Malfoy looked down at the bubbles in his glass, seemingly concentrating on their steady upwards journey until they met the surface of his drink. Involuntarily, Harry's mouth dropped open, as he stared at Malfoy's grey eyes so focused on an object when they should be focused on him. And suddenly they were, imploringly looking directly at Harry, who surprised them both by a simple smile.


	2. Chapter 2

No one could deny that Draco looked ravishing tonight, Harry thought. His pale skin showed only a hint of a tan, and his cheeks were slightly flushed from the alcohol. For the first time, Harry saw a Malfoy who looked truly happy. His hair had grown and was pulled back into an elegant knot at the nape of his neck. It was something that Harry would have laughed at a few years ago, but now. Now he just yearned to thread his fingers through it, undo the expensive ribbon clasping it together and pull back slightly to expose the sharp jaw and long neck. He knew how soft it would feel, and knew that he'd never get the chance to touch it. At first glance, Harry thought that Malfoy had lost weight, but soon realised that he had just grown a couple of inches. He was know over 6 foot and stood at equal heights with Zabini who, Harry realised angrily, was too close to the blonde for his liking. Ideally he would have placed Zabini in another country to Draco, the notorious flirt was bound to try and seduce him at some point in time. Harry watched as Malfoy glanced away from him, and threaded a lose strand of hair behind his left ear. He would have happily continued staring all night if Pansy, who was standing with Nott and Hermione, hadn't caught site of him and commanded his attention.

"Harry!" she gushed, rushing over to kiss him on the cheek. "'Hermione and I were just talking about what you'd think of the seating arrangements," she cocked her head to the table where Harry could see ivory cards sat behind the plates at each place. "Not that there was any scheming going on of course," she winked at him. Oblivious as ever, Harry had no clue what she was talking about but smiled politely. He would never understand women; he'd just have to learn to live with that.

He surveyed the room, trying to work out who else was coming. Ron, Seamus and Dean were gathered in a corner of the tent antisocially, laughing at something that Ron had said. Nott and Hermione were engaging in conversation, something that didn't shock Harry at all. The pair of them worked together in magical law at the ministry, and had been spending quite a bit of time together of late. Ron hadn't been too happy about the arrangement, but had been wise enough not to mention it to Hermione lest he want a lecture on his immaturity and how they weren't Gryffindors or Slytherins anymore, just witches and wizards. Harry looked out the back of the tent and saw Luna dancing around with the fairies he'd spotted earlier. She caught him looking and gave a shy wave before continuing her dance. From his calculations, along with Zabini, Malfoy, Pansy and Neville, that made eleven people. He had no clue who the twelfth would be. He knew it wouldn't be Goyle, since he was in Azkaban for trying, rather stupidly, to curse a muggle last month. Harry felt sorry for the guy; he had after all thought that said muggle was a vampire. The ministry somehow didn't believe that Goyle would jump to that conclusion because the woman was wearing red lipstick, but no one who knew him doubted it.

"Who else is coming Pansy? Nev said there were twelve of us," Harry asked, still racking his brains even though he didn't care whom else came, providing Draco stayed.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I thought I had. Draco has a boyfriend!"

Harry paled at this, and his face fell. He hastily rearranged his features into what he hoped was a mildly interested expression, but he could tell that it hadn't worked by the look on Pansy's face. He took it all back. He did care who the twelfth guest was and he was going to curse whoever it was into oblivion. This was worse than he'd expected, he wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. Pansy saw the anger radiating from his eyes.

"Really Potter? I can't believe this. You like Draco. You like Draco!"

"Shut up!"

He wanted to punch her. He felt so humiliated. Malfoy had a boyfriend, of course he did. You only had to look at him to figure that one out, who wouldn't want him? And Harry had actually come here hoping; even though it was only a slither of hope, that Malfoy would give him a chance, let them start again. Pansy's tiny hand slipped into his and gave it a quick squeeze, looking mortified.

"I'm so sorry Harry, I didn't realise. If I did I would never have said he could bring Wood."

Harry blanched. Wood. "Oliver wood?!" he nearly roared, and he spotted Malfoy's ever so perfect head tilt his way slightly. He couldn't believe it. Yet he had to when he saw a small, although it seemed to Harry slightly forced, smile appear on Malfoy's lips as Wood entered the tent, followed by Neville who no longer clad the pink apron. Harry had never hated someone more than he hated Oliver right now. Not Bellatrix, not Uncle Vernon, fuck - not even Voldemort. And the object of his hatred was walking right over to him.

"Potter! Harry, good to see you. It's been a while," he stuck out his hand and Harry grasped it a little too tightly, gathering from the way white marks were left on Oliver's skin as he pulled away. "How's life treating you? I suspect you've heard all about Malfoy and me. I must admit, I'd find it shocking too! A Gryffindor with a Slytherin? But I was holidaying in France last month and we just kind of, well clicked. I wouldn't have believed it if you'd told me last year that I'd be dating Malfoy, of all people."

Harry was about to say something in return, or maybe punch the bronze haired twat in the face, when Pansy interjected. "Oh yes Oliver, I was just telling Harry," She gave him a pointed look that clearly said 'don't you dare do anything stupid Potter'.

"Well! Neville darling, is the food ready?" She asked, trying to change the subject and prevent one of her guests killing another. Neville, who had been watching the encounter with a shy interest, nodded and smiled at his girlfriend. Pansy dragged Harry by the hand to his seat; saving him from witnessing Malfoy go to greet his Oliver. Malfoy shook Oliver's hand cordially, as if he was an acquaintance and not a lover. Oliver didn't look too shocked at this unfamiliarity and just smiled, going to sit besides Ron and Luna in his designated seat. Harry was glad Oliver was sat away from him, and not next to Malfoy. He didn't want to witness whatever it was they did in public. He was also glad for Pansy, controlling his anger like that. He didn't want to imagine what would have happened if he'd punched Oliver for no reason. He suspected that everyone would come to the logical conclusion that he was jealous, and he definitely wasn't, he told himself. He didn't want Malfoy, nor did he find the git at all attractive. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with the man who was nothing but an annoyance in his life.

"Potter."

Oh, whom was he kidding? He wanted everything to do with the man! Malfoy pulled out the chair next to Harry, and sat down with his characteristic grace. Harry snuck a glance at him from under his eyelids and his breath hitched. Malfoy had, if it was even possible, become more beautiful over the past year. His eyelashes had darkened, yet the sun had bleached his blonde hair. He was clean-shaven, of course, and his skin was completely unmarred. From his quick glance, Harry couldn't spot a blemish or a scar anywhere. He was nothing short of perfection.

"Malfoy." He greeted the blonde cordially. He was determined not to let his embarrassment interfere with what was perhaps his only chance to have a decent conversation with the man. "Its erm…Well it's good to see you."

"It's good to see that my eloquence is still superior to yours Potter, even if I have only been speaking French for the past year." He smirked, almost friendly in his mannerisms. It wasn't the cruel smirk that had been directed at Harry so many times before. Harry found the thought of Malfoy speaking French, though he would never admit it, incredibly erotic. He could imagine the sounds rolling off the sharp tongue. Even jests and insults would sound like heaven in French, if spoken by Malfoy, he thought. Harry opened his mouth for a come back, but no sound came out.

"Point proven?" Draco quipped, smugness radiating as he folded his arms. Harry couldn't stop the laugh that escaped his lips. What was Malfoy doing to him? It was crazy how delirious he was just sitting next to the blonde. If only he reached his hand out, it could rest upon that toned thigh that was stretched under the table. Malfoy's legs really were something to look at, Harry thought. They were obviously strong; Malfoy had obviously being keeping in shape, probably through quidditch. He became distracted by the thought of Malfoy on a broom, leaning forward and exposing tight clothing clinging to that peachy ass of his… Harry snapped his head up suddenly, ashamed of himself for forgetting where he was and wasting even a moment with Malfoy. There was plenty of time to fantasise about him on brooms later, in the privacy of his bed. Malfoy had obviously sensed Potter's gaze since he smirked again.

"Please Potter, I know I'm attractive, but you have to stop checking me out. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm spoken for," He flicked his head in Oliver's direction. Harry obviously had noticed but was trying to ignore it. Instead he was focusing his efforts on getting drunk, already onto his third glass of wine. Harry laughed, attempting to conceal his jealousy.

"Keep telling yourself that Malfoy, maybe one day it will come true," he quipped. Malfoy just smiled smugly and leaned back in his chair as the starter, roast pheasant salad, appeared on their plates. The menu had obviously been designed by Pansy, not Neville. Pansy, who was sat at the other side of Harry was giggling at her boyfriend's jokes but kept casting glances at Harry and Malfoy, nosy as usual.

"Draco darling, would you be a dear and pass me the jus?" she gave Harry an obvious wink as Malfoy was forced to lean over him to hand her the jug. The physical closeness excited Harry more than he thought possible. He could smell Malfoy's shampoo, with it's hints of vanilla Harry was so used to. He went to visit George quite often, and every time he was bottling armontentia into the heart shaped bottles, he smelt Malfoy. He wondered whether the potion Malfoy had made smelt the same; since Malfoy was the most inappropriate person he could ever fall in love with, a fact he'd been aware of for two years. He was disappointed as Pansy took the jug from the strong fingers and Malfoy withdrew from his personal space.

Harry realised that he had never actually had a proper conversation with Malfoy before, and was stuck on what to say. What was the proper etiquette for speaking with your ex-arch enemy, who you now secretly loved? Harry had no idea, yet he expected Malfoy would. No doubt his mother had taught him to speak politely to enemies whilst he was still in the crib.

"So, you've er started your own potions business?" Harry asked pathetically, trying to come up with some suitable topic for conversation whilst simultaneously trying not to stare and the tongue, which darted out of Malfoy's mouth to lick the red sauce off his lips. Grey eyes settled on his own, amusement dancing in them. He was, Harry realised, enjoying the discomfort that Harry felt.

"Weasley told you that, no doubt? I have, I thought it would be a distraction. Paris can be awfully dull at times when you have no one to visit."

"What do you mean? I thought you were staying with relatives, or friends?"

Draco scoffed. 'All aristocratic idiots, none of them would know fun if it hit them like a bludger."

Now it was Harry's turn to scoff. "Oh, aristocratic idiot? That doesn't remind me of anyone at all," he smiled, trying to show that he was joking. Malfoy had been civil, or at least tried to be. He wasn't going to be the one to mess up the only pleasant time they'd ever spent together. He watched anxiously, trying to work out if he had offended the other man. He received a look of mock disdain, and decided that was the best he could have hoped for.

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough for Harry, although the looks that Oliver kept directing at Draco made him want to whip his wand out and curse him. Draco hadn't returned any, to Harry's knowledge, and this cheered him up slightly. Maybe Malfoy was just dating Oliver because he had no one else to date. Even as he thought it he felt stupid, all the gay wizards in England would jump at the chance for a night with the blonde, and probably some of the straight too. The only possible reason Malfoy was with Oliver was because he liked him. That hurt Harry more than he liked to admit.

After dinner the group headed inside for more drinks. Having drank slightly too much and feeling slightly ill at the site of Oliver's frame next to Malfoy's, his possessive hand on a shoulder, Harry excused himself and apparated home. He collapsed on his bed and his carefully erected mask fell from his face. He didn't even attempt to stop the sob that escaped his throat and echoed around the bedroom. He was in love with Draco Malfoy, he knew it, and now Malfoy had a boyfriend. He tore his glasses from his face and threw them across the room, where they smashed on a bookshelf. He didn't care, as he curled into a ball and fell asleep to the sound of his own gentle crying.


End file.
